You're screwed, Puck
by lowi
Summary: Someone got to be messing around with Puck's head, because he hardly recognizes himself... Sam, however, seems to enjoy himself. /SUCK-SPUCK-SAM/PUCK /Set during season two /Rated T because Puck's internal voice is full of swears - among other things...
1. Chapter 1 in which a Coke is blamed

_A/N: First of all: Puck swears a lot in his mind, so beware. Secondly, this is my first Glee fic, and it's supposed to be set somewhere around the middle of season two, but with a slight twist...obviously. Thirdly, fully dedicated to my friend Linchalou (even though you've already read it...). And fourthly (yay, I got all the way to four!), thanks to mew-tsubaki for beta-reading!_

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**You're screwed, Puck**

**Chapter One**

**in which a Coke, a pillow, and the air conditioning get all the blame.**

Puck is holding his can of Coke so hard that he can see his veins on the back of his hand. And he's determinedly staring at that hand instead of next to him. Because if he doesn't, he doesn't know what will happen.

There must be something else in that Coke, he thinks, because the thing on his mind—well, it's just fucked up, and it can't be his _own_ thoughts, it just can't. That's not the way Puck works.

He simply isn't questioning his sexuality; he won't do that, because he's not even close to being gay. Gay, that's when one is like Hummel—when you like fucking clothes and use hand lotion and that kind of shit. And Puck doesn't. So. Puck. Is. Not. Gay.

Which means that Sam's thigh that's pressed against his is perfectly ignorable, and the way that they're so close on that fucking sofa isn't a problem and that he can almost feel Sam's breath doesn't matter at all.

Ah, it's nice to come up with answers. Puck takes another sip of his Coke, and for exactly thirty-four seconds (it's not as though he _counted_, of course not), he manages to stare straight ahead and ignore Sam.

Then Sam makes a little sound in the back of his throat, as if he's choking on his own fucking saliva, and Puck just _has_ to turn. Because, seriously, what if the little bugger actually did choke and died, and Puck had just sat to the right of him and stared at the TV without saving him?

But Sam isn't choking. He's sucking in his lower lip and Puck's eyes feel as if they are going to jump out of their sockets—but not because of that, just because of what Sam says next: "Is there someone actually watching?" He's referring to the TV show that's on, and of course that's something that makes one's eyes jump out of their sockets, because…er…it's a much unexpected thing to say, and…

"Probably not," Puck answers at last, and his voice is also acting a bit weird, though he manages to hide it by coughing first, because no way in hell is he going to squeak. Especially not when there's no reason for that to happen.

"Guess I should go home then," Sam says, but he isn't moving from where he's sitting, and at first Puck doesn't understand why and almost begins to think of things he shouldn't think of, but then he sees that Mike is asleep on the floor and that he has his back propped against Sam's legs so that Sam can't move.

And on the other side of Puck, Finn is leaning on him and is close to drooling on Puck's shoulder (what the fuck?), and Puck wonders for exactly one second why the pressure of Finn's body against him isn't making him react as Sam's thighs do—but then he catches himself and rises in one quick movement, because that feels like the only fucking option.

Finn's head tumbles down on the sofa with a thud, but the dumbass doesn't even wake up, and Puck and Sam look at each other with laughter in their eyes. Then they look away and Puck takes the remote control because he has to turn off the TV, and he has to put the bowls of chips away, and he has to take the DVD out of the player, and he has to do a lot of things.

"Do you think we should wake Mike up?" Sam asks quietly, and, okay then, maybe Puck doesn't have to fluff the pillows in Mike's bed, maybe that's just a little bit over-the-top.

"Nah, I think he'll get it that we left, don't you?" Puck says, and—fuck—now he's realized something else. He can't walk home with Sam, he just can't. They have to wake Finn up, even though Finn said he should sleep over at Mike's, because Puck fucking needs Finn…

Not because it is _Sam_ he's walking home with, only because of…yeah, whatever. It's still not as though Puck is gay or something, or even if he was, it's not as if he's interested in Sam, and he really should stop this, because he's sounding pathetic, repeating it. As if he's desperately trying to deny something that in fact is true, and this is as fucking far away from true as it could possibly be.

So when Sam is trying to wiggle free from Mike without waking him up, Puck very accidentally puts an elbow in Finn's ribs, and Finn opens his eyes and jolts. "Wha—who—how?" Finn spits out, and Puck grabs him around his arm and drags him up on his feet. Sam is still busy with carefully putting Mike's head on a pillow, and fuck it, does he have to have his tongue outside his mouth to fucking do that?

"You don't want to sleep over any longer," Puck whispers quickly to Finn, and thank God, Finn just nods. Sometimes it is actually worth having Finn as a friend, Puck thinks, with the way they sometimes don't have to ask and just know something's important.

Sam has at last finished tucking Mike in, yes, he even put a fucking quilt on top of him, and he walks now up to Puck and Finn, the latter of which is rubbing his eyes and yawns. "You're not staying, Finn?" he asks.

"Nope, he's going home," Puck answers for Finn, because he's just staring at Sam as though he's an alien, and Puck really wants to get out of there as soon as possible and get home because now Sam is giving him this confused look and his eyes are huge. Not that that's his reason for wanting to go home.

Sam nods eventually, and the three of them slip out the backdoor. It's dark outside, though the house next to Mike's sort of destroys the moment, with the huge TV that's on and flashes through the huge window that faces Mike's back garden.

They don't say anything as they walk down the street. Finn is in the middle, and that's good, because then Puck can pretend that Sam isn't there, that it's just him and Finn. They arrive at the crossroads, where Sam will have to turn left, Puck continue straight forward, and Finn to the right. Fucking fitting where they live, isn't it?

"See you Monday," Finn mumbles, his hands in his pockets and his gait still looking as if he's sleepwalking. He turns around and walks away, and—fuck, fuck, _fuck_, he wasn't supposed to leave first!

Pucks opens his mouth to repeat Finn's words to Sam, but suddenly they're getting caught in his throat—like, really bad—and fuck if Sam isn't giving him this little smile from the corner of his mouth and speaks up before he does. _Can I be more pathetic, for fuck's sake?_ Puck groans mentally while Sam says, "It was fun tonight, huh?"

"Sure," Puck mumbles, and he wants to go home even more, because he really needs to do something, because he shouldn't be standing here and actually considering to "experiment a bit with his sexuality" as Mrs. Pillsbury once told them in class was more than okay, because, as he has stated now a million times, he isn't fucking gay! "I'll see you on Monday."

"Or tomorrow," Sam says with a little smile, and at first Puck doesn't know what he's talking about, they're not going to meet tomorrow—are they? And why does he get this feeling in his stomach as he thinks of going to meet Sam tomorrow? Then he realizes what Sam means, that it's past midnight and he rolls his eyes, because that was lame.

"Whatever, dude," Puck says, and he feels a little bit more badass again, a little more _Puck_ again. And that feels nice as hell.

They part, and when Puck walks under the streetlights, he tries to keep that feeling, that feeling that he still is himself and knows everything about himself, and that there is no doubt about anything. Then he realizes that he sounds even more doubtful by thinking like that, so he just focuses on not stepping on any cracks, as he used to do when he was little.

It works well, all the way home, and then he has to be really quiet, and he can focus on that, so he doesn't wake anyone up, but as soon as he puts his head on his pillow, the thoughts return.

'.'.'

Three fucking guesses on who spends his Sunday in bed, watches karate movies all day, and has to endure a lot of shouting because he's playing music too loud? Smartass, of course it's Puck.

The day passes relatively quickly, and relatively un-thinking—at least when it comes to Sam and gay-related stuff.

Though Puck knows very well he shouldn't be lying to himself—he's not saying that he _is_ that, just that he shouldn't _be_ that. It's quite confusing, to be honest. But, thing is, if he's gay, then he shouldn't deny it. But as it is now, he can't know that for sure, maybe he was just…er…infatuated with Coke. He'd played too much _Assassin's Creed_. Or something else.

Fuck, now he's thinking of it. He shouldn't; hadn't he decided that?

It's probably something wrong with his pillow. It's his pillow that makes him think this weird stuff and makes it unable for him to fall asleep. It has to be.

That thought is quite nice, so he holds on to it until he's almost asleep, and then it hits him that he hadn't had the pillow with him in Mike's house…

'.'.'

He wakes up the following morning because his mum knocks on the door. "Hurry, or I'll clear the table, Noah."

Puck opens his eyes slowly, because, damn, if he just could never leave his bed. He doesn't want to go to school today, not at all.

But then his mum yells again, and maybe it's better just to do it. Because maybe he'll go to school and it'll all be fine.

Or maybe not.

During the first class, Sam is sitting three rows in front of him and Puck actually finishes the pop quiz. Not that one thing has something to do with the other—why would it, it's not as if Puck refused to look up from the sheet just not to watch Sam's hair—but as Puck walks out of there he feels like a fucking loser; he isn't supposed to do what he's told…he's Puckerman, and Puckerman is badass.

And then it gets even worse. Which shouldn't be possible, but it seems to be as someone has it in for Puck. Sam catches up with him when Puck is on his way to glee club, and he has this one strand of hair that stands straight out from his head which Puck can't stop looking at, because it's…never mind. Puck did not think it was adorable.

But Sam is blabbering on, and Puck realizes he forgot to listen, and now Sam seems to wait for an answer, and—fuck it all. But for once Puck's lucky, because they have arrived at the choir room, and Sam says, "Let's talk later," and sits down in the front row. And never mind that everyone else is still speaking, that Mr. Schue is waiting for them to calm down, that Puck usually is the one that takes the longest to quiet down, because this way it's all much better.

Then he senses that Sam takes the chair next to him, and that wasn't supposed to happen—and furthermore, Puck isn't supposed to cast a sideway glance and receive that crooked smile for an answer.

Puck quickly looks at Mr. Schue again, who now is speaking, and he has this huge smile on his lips, like that one he had when he told them about _Rocky Horror_, but Puck can't concentrate on what he's saying.

It's something about tents, but that doesn't make sense, so Puck tries to focus even more, but how the hell did he manage to miss so much already? Mr. Schue says, "And as we'll be gone for one week, I want, _also_, that each night two of you'll sing a song separately…," but then Puck loses it again because Sam is leaning a bit forward, so Puck can see him in the corner of his eyes. And fuck it, is he so interested in what Schue is saying that he has to suck on his pinky on the hand he's leaning his chin on?

Puck wiggles a bit in his chair, so he sits a bit more to the right, and Sam disappears out of his line of sight. "And don't forget sleeping bags," Mr. Schue says with another smile, and why the fuck is everyone else also looking really happy? "Now, on to today's work." Schue begins to hand out some papers, and when Puck gets his, he sees that he's supposed to play the guitar, and that is more than a relief.

He walks up and takes his guitar and sits down next to the orchestra, because no way in hell is he going to show off today. And thank God that it's a difficult song so he can concentrate fully on it instead of how Sam is singing—and, well, everyone else, too.

They finish at last, and Puck thinks he's safe now…or yeah, whatever, he just wants to get home quickly, that's the only reason for practically running out of the room, of course. But then, fucking unbelievably, Sam is there and grabs his arm.

"You never answered me," he says and grins.

"About what?"

Sam looks at him as if he thinks he's screwing around with him, and thank you very much, Evans, it might be the other way around here. "Tonight? Video games? Not to be mean or something, but you and I beat Mike and Finn quite a lot, so…," Sam trails off, and Puck doesn't know what to say.

"…er, sure."

"Good." And _fuck_, does Sam's entire face _have _to light up as though someone pressed a button? "Your place, then? At eight?"

Puck nods, and when Sam walks away, he wonders what he should blame now. There's no Coke and no pillow. Maybe it's the fucking air conditioning in this fucking school that he's allergic to.

Either way, he's fucked.


	2. Chapter 2 in which Puck is angry

_A/N: Second chapter is here! Many thanks to mew-tsubaki for her betaing, and thanks for the reviews, they are much appreciated. I hope you'll enjoy!_

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**You're screwed, Puck**

**Chapter Two**

**in which Puck is angry and decides to, as Sam put it, try something****.**

_Man, this is awkward_. And what is making it even more awkward is that Puck just thought so. He really doesn't know what he's thinking, what he's doing, and why he's doing and thinking it, but the way he's sitting just next to the door and waits for Sam to ring the doorbell (because he doesn't know what else to fucking do) makes him think of dating and meeting the parents and all that bullshit that really doesn't have _anything _to do with what's happening.

Sam rings the doorbell at last and Puck opens the door immediately, and he regrets it all with every passing second. Though he actually doesn't, because he is only going to play video games with a friend—what is there to regret?

"Hey!" Sam says, and he pushes the door away which Puck has forgotten how to open wider so Sam can enter. "That was fast of you to answer the doorbell," Sam remarks, and Puck just has to say something bitchy back, because that's what Puck's supposed to do.

But then he can't come up with something. It's completely fucking blank in his mind, and that's so wrong that Puck just mumbles something and suddenly has a lot of trouble relocking the door after Sam.

They walk up the stairs after Sam has poked his head into the kitchen and greeted Puck's mum who is seated by the kitchen table and reading a book, and Puck has decided three times that his mother is so dead tomorrow, because does she really have to compliment Sam's hair _and_ ask him about school? She's never usually this embarrassing, Puck thinks with a pout…then he realizes what he's doing, and fuck, the only one embarrassing here is _him_.

They sit down in the sofa, and Puck really can't take the silence that has fallen upon them after leaving the kitchen because it's just too fucking quiet and awkward and there's not even a reason for there to be. "What did you think of Rachel's solo today?" he asks, and hell, was that the best he could come up with? First of all, discussing Berry is quite much a turn-off…and fuck, no. He did not just think that.

Sam raises his eyebrows just before Puck turns around to plug the controllers in, which is good, because he fears he's blushing, and he really doesn't want Sam to see that. "It was good, I suppose."

Puck turns on the power on the TV, and when he sees his fucking finger shaking he decides to get a grip on himself. He's Noah Puckerman, and he's so _not_ going to act like this anymore. He stands up and goes and slumps on the sofa, throwing one of the controllers at Sam, who catches it with his eyebrows still so high they almost reach his hairline.

"Ready?" Puck asks Sam, and before he even has time to answer, Puck presses "Start" and the game begins. _That's the Puck I know_, Puck thinks, and he feels a bit more relaxed as his fingers dances over the controls, and he reloads, shoots, and, fuck he's good.

Sam doesn't stand a chance against him, he thinks, as he finally spots Sam's character and shoots him straight in the head, blood splashing the wall behind him. This is badass, and this is how it's supposed to be. He turns around to face Sam, and he can feel that there's a grin on his lips already.

But Sam isn't even holding his remote control, it lays abandoned in his lap, and Puck can't believe he didn't fucking noticed how still Sam's character was. Like, was he so relieved that he didn't have to keep talking to Sam that he stopped functioning properly?

"What is it?" Puck asks, and Sam is giving him this _really_ weird look, and it's just too fucking much. "You…er… don't you like Battlefield?" And fuck if he's not sad.

And of course Sam has to chew a bit on his lower lip, and then he nods slowly, and Puck just can't take this anymore, so he looks down at the controller in his hands.

"Good, because I think the graphic here are, like, flawless," Puck says, and he doesn't really know what he's saying, but that doesn't matter, because Sam is fucking quiet and Puck can't stand the fucking quiet. "I mean, sometimes it's, like, better than reality…or not really, but you know."

"Puck," Sam says, and that voice, God, Puck just has to look at Sam because he hasn't heard him sound like that _ever. _And Sam has crawled up on the sofa so he's, like, kneeling next to Puck, but they're on the same level, and wow, is Sam really that close? "I want to try something."

"What?" Puck mumbles, and he looks on a spot on Sam's knee, because that's so much better, but then again, it's so fucking wrong, and what the hell is Sam even doing—this is not, not, _not_, what he had expected.

Sam puts a hand on Puck's shoulder, and okay, maybe this isn't _that_ bad, so Puck looks up, and Sam is even closer now, and his lips are just above his, and they're parting a bit, and Puck has no idea what he should do—he should fucking run away, he shouldn't be here…but it's Sam, and it's Sam's lips, and they're so soft against his…

Suddenly it's as if every fucking thought has flown out of Puck's brain, and he leans forward because, oh God, he didn't know it would feel this good and so different from kissing Santana or Rachel or whomever. But it does. Sam is leaning against the armrest of the sofa, and Puck just can't get enough of his lips, and he feels as if he could kiss them forever, because Sam is like sucking a bit on Puck's lips, and Puck is so fucking close to actually moaning. But that's not Puck-style, so Puck won't do it.

Then Sam's fingers are suddenly starting to pull at the buttons on Puck's shirt, and Puck feels as if someone poured a bucket of ice-cold water on him. He rises from where he's been half-lying across Sam and puts his head in his hands. What the fuck is he doing? Hasn't he been spending a day ignoring this, completely refusing to acknowledge it—hasn't he decided that he is not anywhere close to being gay and liking Sam?

"Puck?" Sam says, and his voice is a little bit broken, and damn-it all, when Puck peeks through his fingers, he's still lying there, with his lips a bit redder than usual and his hair a bit messier than always.

Puck breathes in heavily, and stands. He has to get Sam out of there, fast, because this is not okay. Or really, it's Puck that's not okay, it's Puck that is all wrong and confused and an asshole, but that doesn't matter, because it's all _Sam's_ _fault_, that Puck's like this. "Could you go now?" he says, and he tries to make it sound as a demand, but it's sort of impossible when Sam looks at him like that.

And Sam rises, too, and the look he's giving Puck is absolutely crushing him, because his eyes are that huge again… But okay, Puck looks at the floor instead, and that's a hell of a lot better.

"See you in school tomorrow," Puck says to the floor, and he almost expects it to answer him, because the way he's staring at the floor could draw corpses from the ground, or that's at least how it feels, but then Sam says, "Sure," and that's about it.

He hears him opening the door, and then Sam is gone, and Puck is left to his fucking thoughts and regrets and the only thing he can think of is how unbattlefield-y Battlefield really is compared to his fucking mind.

'.'.'

Puck's plan had been to stay home from school, but as he lies in bed during the first period and stares at his roof, he realizes he has to do _something_, because he feels as if he's going mad.

So he goes to school. He arrives there about lunchtime, but he isn't hungry, so he walks directly to the choir room and sits down in a seat. At first it's actually nice being there—it's really quiet, and sort of calm and easier to breathe in— but then he spots a sweater that's hanging on the chair next to him, which just has to be Sam's, and fuck, now he's thinking of it all again.

He closes his eyes to try and erase it, which of course makes it all worse, when the door suddenly opens.

"Puck?"

"Rachel."

"Why are you here already?" Rachel asks, and she walks to the piano where she puts a stack of paper.

"I could ask you the same," Puck says, and he knows he might sound a bit bitter, but it's nice to just let it all out, and if Berry is here, then, sorry, but she'll have to take it.

"We do start in five minutes," she says, and she pushes a lock of hair behind her ear, and what the fuck? Has Puck lost all his badass-ness, or is she being extremely cheeky?

"So why are you asking me why I'm here already?"

She raises her eyebrows, and sits down on a chair three seats away. "You're always late, Puck."

Puck looks at her, and he just fucking wants to say _something_, but he can't come up with something, but then the rest of the gleeks pours in, and he gets away with a little look. Or maybe he doesn't, but now he fucking doesn't care, because where is Sam? …or, no, he did not just wonder that, he just didn't.

"So, everyone got their permission slips?" Mr. Schue asks, and everyone starts to rummage through their bags, and Puck sits there feeling like the idiot everyone probably think he is when he raises his hand and asks "What permission slips?"

"The one I gave you yesterday, Puck," Schue says while he's nodding at Brittany, who's explaining something about hers.

"Which?" Puck asks.

"About the trip, Puck. I told you it was important, and that you had to hand it in as soon as possible. Okay, you can give it to me tomorrow, but then you have to, Puck, really _have to_ have it with you."

Puck is about to ask what trip, when the door opens again and Sam enters. "Sorry, Mr. Schue," he says, and Puck realizes he's fucking staring at him, because his hair is really wet, and damn it all, there's only one chair left, and of course it's next to Puck.

Their eyes meet for one second, and then Puck looks down—_Hello floor, we're seeing each other a whole fucking lot these days_—and Sam sits down.

And he smells like shampoo. What is this, why is the world fucking with him like this? Yesterday Puck decided that he wasn't feeling anything about Sam and that he wasn't gay, but now he's sitting her and having his nostrils filled with a shampoo scent and wants to…yeah, whatever.

Suddenly Puck gets another sheet in his hands, and fuck, he's going to sing. He doesn't want to sing. He wants to sit in a corner and being fucking invisible. But no, now he's going to stand in front of everyone, in front of Sam, with Berry, and fucking sing.

It's frustrating really. It's not okay. It's a plot. It has to be, someone probably thinks this is really funny, to see Puck tormented like this. Argh, Puck wants to hit someone. Badly.

And then the orchestra starts playing, and okay, maybe it's okay, Puck knows this song. Rachel is doing well, too, and it feels sort of good to just sing, and let everything out in _the song_, instead of going and breaking a window, as his first plan had been…but then he casts a glance to the right and sees Sam, who's staring directly at Rachel, fucking _following _her every move.

And he doesn't know why it makes him so upset, because it should make him feel better, that he hasn't Sam's eyes on him, but it doesn't. Not at all.

The song ends, and Puck sits down in his chair and feels as he does during a football game, when the adrenaline is pumping and it doesn't matter that the guy in front of him is huge as a house—Puckerman can bring him down on the first try.

When the class ends, he's a little bit calmer, but then he sees Sam talking to Santana, and he suddenly doesn't care. He walks up to Sam, grabs him around his arm and pulls him with him to the closest boy's restroom.

Sam is stubbornly looking away from him, and yanks free as soon as Puck release his grip a little. "What are you doing, man?"

Puck doesn't really know how or _what_ he's supposed to say, but then Sam is sucking in his lower lip again. "My turn to try something," he says, and he doesn't really know what he means by it, but he leans forward and Sam does, too, and this time could've been a thousand times better if they hadn't been in a restroom and someone had flushed a toilet the exact moment and they didn't have to break free.

But this time is still better in a way, because this time Puck isn't destroying it, and neither is Sam.


	3. Chapter 3 in which Puck is inappropriate

_A/N: I'm back with a new chapter! Sorry I took so long with updating… I hope you'll enjoy this, nevertheless!_

_Thanks for the reviews, and many thanks to __mew-tsubaki__ for betareading!_

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**You're screwed, Puck**

**Chapter Three**

**in which Puck is being inappropriate and Sam blushes far too much.**

They are lying on Puck's bed, just lying there. Sam's fingers are tracing Puck's arms, and Puck is so close to falling asleep.

Who knew it was this exhausting making out with guys…or rather, with Sam?

Only five days have passed since they were in the restroom, and Puck has finally regained his composure and stopped smiling like a fucking idiot at Sam all the time.

The first two days or so, Puck had still been all itchy and _wanted_ to deny it, but he had, in the end, realized he couldn't. But anyway, it wasn't as though they were telling someone, so Puck had decided that he was going to let go. And fuck if that wasn't the best thing he'd ever done.

"Sam," he mumbles, having to strain himself a bit so as not to get Sam's hair in his mouth.

"Mhm?" Sam answers and looks up, and, wow, Puck still gets a bit overwhelmed when Sam looks from beneath his bangs like that, all fucking doe-eyed and breathless.

"Nothing," Puck says quickly, because he actually has forgotten it. And if he were being cheesy, he could have explained how it was Sam's eyes that did that to him—make him forget things—but he isn't, so when Sam lies back down, he catches his earlobe between his teeth, sucks a bit on it, and gives it a little lick.

Sam goes completely red, and Puck grins to himself, because _hell, yes,_ that's how Puck's supposed to do things—dirty and out of nowhere.

"Puck, that's disgusting!" Sam squirms next to him and turns so that he's staring sternly at Puck.

"You don't believe that yourself," Puck says with a grin, and now Sam is blushing even harder, and Puck can't believe it; it's all too fucking awesome.

Sure, it's not as if it's new or something, because it actually has been _five_ days, but Puck still gets this feeling in his stomach when Sam blushes because of _him_. "Are you coming to school tomorrow?" Sam asks then, and okay, that's a way of ruining the moment, but then again, Puck doesn't really mind, because maybe he doesn't feel as though he has to ravage Sam every single fucking moment; maybe talking also works sometimes.

"Yeah, I plan on it," he says, and Sam actually looks as if he's happy to hear that, and okay, maybe he's just concerned or something because Puck hasn't been to school in these five days just because, but either way it makes Puck happy, too. "Definitely," he adds.

"Great," Sam says, and he puts a hand on the other side of Puck and presses himself up so that he sits instead of lies. "See you then, huh?"

Puck raises his eyebrows. "So the only reason for you coming here today was to make sure I would come to school tomorrow? Man, now I wasted a whole afternoon on you."

Sam laughs, and it's that fucking laughter that sort of drills itself into Puck's brain and makes him melt…and oh God, that _was_ cheesy. "As if you considered any of this a waste, Puck," Sam says with a shake of his head which makes some of his fucking hair strands land in his eyes.

"Whatever," Puck says, and he sits up, too.

Sam gives him that usual half-smile again, and then he presses a kiss to Puck's mouth, quickly, and dashes off. Puck falls back on his bed, landing on the pillows. He can sense he's grinning again, and dammit, that's so un-Puck, but he can't help it. He really feels embarrassed about it all; they've been acting too fucking lovey-dovey, and Sam just shouldn't go around kissing him like that, at least not in public, because it's not as though they're going to be all couple-y, because that's so not Puck.

Then he thinks again of how Sam's lips are so soft, and he wonders if maybe he doesn't care about it all, that maybe Sam is more than welcome to kiss him at any time.

'.'.'

Morning comes, and Puck sort of wants to stay home another day, because now he's used to sleeping in and walking around in boxers all day—and Sam's reaction in the afternoon when he opens the door for him just as undressed.

But then he gets a text from Sam that says "U r awake I hope" and Puck answers with "course" without thinking, because he just got a picture in his head of Sam sitting by the breakfast table in a fucking bathrobe and drinking orange juice, and he has no idea of where it came from, but he couldn't possible say no to Sam in a bathrobe, never mind it's his fucking mind that came up with it.

Then he realizes what he's thinking of and it's all too weird, so he downs his coffee and walks out onto the street and begins to head to school.

"Puck!" someone yells after him, and it's Finn on his bike. "What's been up with you?" he asks as he brakes next to Puck and begins to bike a lot slower.

"Just didn't feel like going to school," Puck answers, and man, it feels so wrong, but still like really cool that Finn knows _shit_ about him and Sam.

"Okay, you didn't miss much," Finn says. "Though I think Quinn is a bit pissed off at Sam and stuff… I don't know why, though…," he trails off.

And Puck doesn't answer, because what should he say? _Oh, I already know, it's just because Sam officially broke up with Quinn because he's together with me._ Or, _I would too, if I was Quinn, because I wouldn't want me taking her ex-boyfriend._ Or maybe, _I didn't think of that—this time it's not Quinn I'm stealing, this time I'm stealing from __her__._

That last one was pretty fucking good, though…

Then they arrive at school, and Finn goes to some fucking Spanish class or something, and Puck has history with Sam. Never before has Puck actually looked forward to a class.

He hasn't yet seen Sam, but then again, the guy might always be late, who fucking knows, or at least, how should _Puck_ know when he's the one who's always at least fifteen minutes late?

He takes his usual seat and waits for Sam to sit down in front of him, but then again, the bell hasn't even fucked sounded yet, and there's only two more people in the classroom, so maybe he shouldn't get his hopes up just yet.

And hell, it feels weird being here so early. He feels itchy just sitting here and doing nothing, as if the classroom is going to suffocate him when he isn't on his guard.

Puck shakes his head and leans backwards in his chair so that it's resting on two legs, and he's holding the table to keep his balance. Much better, and much more Puck-like. Because, arriving ten minutes early to class could _otherwise_ be looked upon as a little nerdy, and that's far from Puck, fuck you very much.

More and more people come in, and eventually the bell sounds and the teacher arrives. When she sees Puck—hell yes, he's still got style; she gasps and asks, "Puckerman, you're here?"

"It sure looks so," he answers, and he's on his way to give her a half-smirk when the door opens and Sam stumbles in and takes his seat.

"Sorry I'm late," he says, and Miss Whatever-Her-Name-Is shakes her head but says nothing. She begins to hand them some exercise booklets and Puck slides down a little in his chair so that he can reach Sam's feet with his own and kick them.

Sam jolts, casts one glance backwards, and mouths, "What?"

Puck grins, and mouths back "nothing," which causes Sam to roll his eyes, and okay, Puck thinks as he turns back again, maybe that was a little bit strange of him and not so very badass.

He gets his booklet and opens it, but what the hell, Napoleon? He really couldn't care less about that dude now. He leans across his table, and pokes Sam's back.

"What?" Sam asks, and he turns around in his chair as everyone has started working; the silence is gone, and the teacher whose name Puck still can't remember has gone to get some more booklets.

"You want to pair with me?" Puck asks, and he wiggles his eyebrows and fuck if Sam isn't blushing again. Puck is having way too much fun with this.

"Sure," Sam says, and he turns the chair around so that he's sharing the table with Puck but is sitting on the opposite side of him. "Napoleon's birthplace," he reads from the table, and then he fucking puts his pen between his lips and gives Puck this _look_, and okay, maybe Puck sort of deserves it.

But that doesn't mean Sam can sit there and stare at him and continue sucking at his pen, because hell, that's not fair at all.

Thank God for interrupting teachers. And that has to be the first time in Puck's fucking life he's thought something like that, but now he couldn't care less, because if she hadn't come and said they weren't supposed to work two and two, Puck has no idea what would've had happened.

For the rest of the class, Puck sits staring at the back of Sam's head, and, as much as he hates to admit it, he actually enjoys this history class. Only this, though, and not because of what they're learning, or because of the atmosphere, or whatever. But because of Sam's hair. And Sam's neck. Because when he's bending over his book, he gets this little hollow in it, and his skin looks just so soft, and when he's stretching out his arm, the T-shirt he's wearing wrinkles a little, and Puck gets this fucking perfect peek down his back.

And for the rest of the morning, Puck goes on thinking of that, and he's in a really nice mood and feels like the coolest person walking down the corridors, because he's managed to get Sam, who's sort of another cool guy in school, and that's just fucking awesome.

But maybe he should know that looking that content isn't the greatest idea, because, and fuck, he should have expected it, he gets slushie'd in his entire face. The liquid drips down across his chest, and it's freezing, and damn, now he'll have to skip lunch to get rid of this fuck.

He dives into the closest restroom and grabs a lot of paper towels and begins to wipe himself clean. It's disgusting, and fuck, why hadn't he seen Karofsky and that other guy sneaking up on him? Well, okay, he had been walking around with his head in the…er…Sam-clouds, and probably had looked completely out of it, with a fucking oh-hello-I-get-an-orgasm-from-looking-at-Sam's-hair smile on his lips, so maybe it had been just that easy to walk unnoticed up in his face.

And, fuck, if his T-shirt isn't completely ruined. It doesn't matter how much he dabs it, it doesn't want to disappear. It looks as though someone has fucking puked purple all over him.

Puck is just trying to decide if he should drench himself in the sinks or if that wouldn't be a bit over-the-top, seeing as he's hardly gotten anywhere with Sam and he seems to have a bright future in that regard, when someone opens the door.

And when one's speaking of the devil… "You all right?" Puck looks up and meets Sam's fucking doe-eyes in the mirror, all big and concerned as usual.

"Well, what the hell does it look like?" Puck grumbles and dives down under the jet of water again, to get rid of the sludge that's stuck in his Mohawk. He can't risk ruining his hair, can he?

When he isn't in the danger of getting soap in his eyes anymore he opens them again, and what the fuck? Did the soap give him some kind of allergic reaction, or is he hallucinating or…

But no, Sam is standing there behind him with his chest fucking naked and holding his shirt in his hands, and he gives Puck this look that says "What, Puck, why are you staring?" as if that's completely fucking normal, to undress when the dude you've been making out with for five days has been humiliated and stands soaking in purple slush.

"What are you doing?" Puck asks carefully, and he tries to ignore the picture his mind comes up with somehow, of _Sam_ being the one covered in the slush, and how he would bend forward and lick it off his chest with slow, slow movements, from just above his trousers, hesitate by those oh so yummy abs, and all the way up to his collarbone…

"Take my shirt," Sam says, and Puck just feels fucking out of it, what does he mean—_take his shirt_? "I have another."

And Puck doesn't know how to fucking answer, because he's still staring at Sam, so he takes the shirt and puts it on.

"What is it?" Sam asks, and he folds his arms—and fuck him, Puck actually _enjoyed_ that view.

"Nothing," Puck answers, and _sure_ it's nothing, it's not as though he's just been dreaming of licking Sam's upper body, not at all. He walks up to Sam, and he's bound to be smirking, but what the hell. He grabs Sam's wrists and pulls his arms away from him, and then Puck raises one eyebrow, as if waiting for an "okay," but hell no, he's not going to ask for permission.

So he licks Sam. He fucking licks him, just as he had imagined it, and oh God, it's so fucking good, never mind there's no slush, never mind they're in a restroom, it's just too awesome.

"Puck," Sam breathes in his hair, and Puck can't help but smile. "Stop it, Puck, we're in school, we're supposed to be in Glee in a minute," he says with that shudder in his voice, and Puck just knows that he doesn't mean a word of what he's saying, because now Puck's tongue is just below his first pair of ribs, and Sam's fingers are clutching his shoulders so hard that Sam _can't _anywhere in hell be wanting to end this.

Eventually they have to end, of course, but it doesn't matter much, because Puck's tongue is starting to get a bit desiccated, and okay maybe that's the least important reason, but still.

Sam's cheeks are burning, but he's giving Puck this exasperated look as he puts on the hoodie and zips it, all the way up in the neck so it's impossible to see that he isn't wearing something beneath it. "Well, that's a way of thanking me for the shirt," he says with a crooked smile, and Puck feels as if he's fucking melting _again_. "We really should go now, we're going to be late."

"Or we could skip it all and stay here," Puck answers, but Sam's already out the door and shaking his head, so never mind then. There's always going to be another time—or he'll make there be another time.

Then they enter the choir room, and Mr. Schue is giving them this really tired look, but it doesn't really matter, because they get away with saying Coach Beiste held them back, even though Finn is sitting there with a confused look, because yeah, training _was_ canceled today.

But of course Santana has to mention something about Puck wearing Sam's T-shirt with her voice really dripping of innuendos, but thankfully Puck is fucking awesome like that, so he just squeezes Sam's ass and says, "Yeah, sure, we had some fun in the showers," and he wiggles his eyebrows like a mad man, causing everyone to crack up (except for Mr. Schue who is starting to look really pissed off by now), and think that the idea of Sam and Puck is as outlandish as it really _should_ be and it's only Puck who sees how Sam, despite his once-more-red cheeks, gives him this almost invisible wink.


	4. Chapter 4 in which Puck is badass

_A/N: Oh, dear. I'm so sorry it took so long until I got this chapter up. I'll try and make an effort in updating more frequently from now on, as I think I've gotten over my writer's block. We'll see._

_Many thanks to mew-tsubaki for betareading, and thanks for the reviews!_

* * *

**You're screwed, Puck**

**Chapter Four**

**in which Puck is more badass than usual and is frighteningly protective of Sam**

"Puck, wait!" It's Mr. Schue who yells after Puck when they're heading out of the choir room, and, damn him, Sam is going to join Puck home and he really doesn't want to be delayed.

"What?"

"Did you bring the permission slip?" Mr. Schue says, and fuck, not that damn permission slip again; Puck hasn't a clue about what it even is.

"Oh, crap. I completely forgot. I promise I'll bring it tomorrow, okay?"

"All right, then. But that's your final chance, Puck, you _have _to."

"I said I promise!" Then Puck turns and walks out of the room. Sam isn't in sight—what the hell?—and Puck slightly feels as though he wants to kill Schue. Not that that makes any sense, because it's not _Schue's_ fault that Sam isn't waiting for him, which he very fucking well should be doing, but he doesn't want to kill _Sam_, so therefore only Schue is left.

And then of course, Lauren is there, and okay, Puck likes Lauren, she's actually pretty awesome, but now he wants to find that asshole Sam and yell at him (even though he can't, and probably won't…though a shouting-match could be hot…or at least what follows…_should_ follow), so he simply doesn't want to hear Lauren commenting on Santana's new shirt, or whatever. (…or was it skirt? …get a grip, Puck, _whatever_.)

"Sorry, I gotta go," Puck says, and he finally arrives at his locker. But Sam isn't there either. Somehow, don't even ask, Puck has worked up this fucking weird image in his mind of how Sam would stand leaning against his locker, with the hoodie unzipped and revealing his entire upper body, the back of his head resting on the locker, his lips slightly parted and hands sliding down the sheet-metal.

And the school would be completely empty, the lights dimmed—and fuck, Puck needs to stop this.

Because first of all, Sam isn't even here. Secondly, it's just wrong. Thirdly, Sam isn't even here—oh, he already said that.

Point is, though, where the fuck is that blonde thing? The corridor is beginning to become empty now, as people finally have gathered their stuff from the lockers, but that isn't helping because Sam isn't there. As if he would have been hiding behind some freshmen, just to jump out yelling, "PEEKABOO, PUCK!" As if…

Then he spots him. By the window in the end of the corridor, with Santana. And he has his arms around her neck. Puck just stops dead in his tracks. What the hell is Sam doing? He should be fucking grateful, he shouldn't stand Noah Puckerman up; he should know that that's not how it fucking works.

They were fucking supposed to lie on Puck's bed about now and make out, or at least be on their way there. Instead…instead _this _fuckery is happening!

"Heya, Santana, you've got a new skirt?" Puck says, and he walks up to them, because nowhere in hell is he going to let this pass.

Sam turns really fast, and his eyes are lighting up (but Puck fears he might only be wistful in seeing that, and that's more than pathetic).

"Where did you go, Puck?" he says, and Santana is standing there—because now, thank_ God_, they have to let go of each other—with her usual I-know-exactly-what's-going-on-or-at-least-I-think-so smirk. And in this case, she really just _thinks _so.

"Schue wanted to ask me something," Puck answers. "And you?" he asks, and he tries his fucking best to sound as if he doesn't even care. Because even if Santana doesn't know a thing, she isn't supposed to do that in the future either. And moreover, even if he feels like throwing her out of the window for as much as touching Sam—should he say "his Sam"? Or does that make him sound _really _gay?—he has to restrain himself.

Okay, Puck really has to stop this now. It feels as though he's lost it, completely. One second he wants to kill Sam, the next he wants to kill Santana, and the next he's caught up in a very fucking important issue whether he's sounding too gay.

"Sam just helped me with the price-tag in my new _shirt_, Puck, why?" Santana says, smiling sweetly.

"Just asking, I don't know," Puck says, shrugging. "You're done with removing price-tags, Sam?"

Sam gives him this almost imperceptible little shake of his head and then smiles. "Sure, I'm done. Unless you have one you'd like me to remove."

"It's fine, dude," Puck says, and it's weird, because Sam is looking at him really intensely, but he still manages to sound completely normal, and Puck doesn't even know why he's finding this conversation so hot all of a sudden, because what the fuck, they're speaking of price-tags. And also, Santana is standing next to them with her arms folded.

"You two know that you're acting very…differently from how you usually are?" she says, raising two fingers and pointing at the two of them.

"Are we?" Sam asks, while Puck is once more considering throwing her out of that window. "Interesting. Well, we should be going now, or we'll be late to gym."

Then he walks away, and Puck follows him two seconds later, when Santana's eyebrows have furrowed even more. She shouts, "It's not possible to be late to gym, idiots!" but Sam just smiles again, and Puck almost—but just _almost_—forgets that he's not okay with Sam.

But maybe that can wait at least until they're out of school, or something. They walk next to each other, quietly, and okay, now they are out of school and on the road to Puck's house, and there isn't a single soul that can hear them, but Puck doesn't want to take it up now either.

It feels fucking awkward, but Puck doesn't know a single thing he should say, and he doesn't even know what should've been done or said while walking home. Seriously, it's not as though they should be holding hands or something, because that's just wrong.

"What were you talking about with Mr. Schue?" Sam asks suddenly, looking straight forward.

"Some permission thingy I was supposed to hand in, I don't know," Puck says, and he really doesn't want to speak about that. Not now, because it feels like their least problem—not that he wants to talk about something else more. Argh, he doesn't know what he wants, but it fucking isn't this.

"You haven't handed that in?" Sam asks, and he looks thoroughly surprised when he this time actually meets Puck's eyes.

"What is it, even?"

"For the field trip, next week, you know?"

"No, I don't," Puck answers, and really, what the fuck is Sam thinking? That he would ask what it is if he already knew about it? This is frustrating, and it's not what Puck _really _wants to talk about, but he has no idea of how he should talk about it…yeah, whatever it is that he wants to talk about.

"We're going camping. With Glee, Puck."

Camping? As in tents, sleeping bags, bonfires, mosquitos? How come Puck missed this?

Sam nudges him, and now he has that crooked smile on his lips, though Puck notices that his eyes are looking a little bit worried. "Are we okay, Puck?"

Puck bites his lip. Because, okay, they aren't okay, he's just been going on thinking of how he wants to talk, and usually he doesn't give a shit, but now…now it's feeling weird. But at the same time, it wasn't really something and anyway, he hasn't yet been able to take it up…

Sam interrupts his thoughts. "Because we're supposed to share tents two-and-two, and when you weren't here, I signed up that we two were sharing."

Puck raises his eyebrows. That was…a surprise. "We are?"

Sam nods. "Puck, just so you know, nothing happened between me and Santana back there. I promise you."

Then Sam bites his lower lip and gives Puck a really long look, and okay then, Puck can't hold a fucking grudge more than ten minutes, at least not when Sam looks at him like that. "I know."

"Good," Sam says, and then he gives Puck a little push on his shoulder and grins. "It's sweet of you to care, though."

Puck pushes Sam back, and he can sense that the disapproving face he's trying to pull is fucking hidden underneath a lopsided smile, but ah, what the hell. "I was only thinking of Santana, I wouldn't want her to have to endure you, Evans."

Sam raises his eyebrows and pushes Puck again. "Oh, really? I'm that annoying? Well, I could just go home then, if you want me to?"

Puck grabs Sam's arm, so that he, too, stops in his tracks. Then he leans forwards and whispers in his ear, "Nope, because I know just how to endure you, so it's fine." He quickly pecks Sam's lips, and okay, that does sound extremely corny, but they aren't home yet, and someone _could _see them if Puck did what he really wanted to do with Sam right then.

And they will be home in, like, a minute.

'.'.'

The following morning, Puck wakes up with a grin on his face. Which is fucking embarrassing, so he quickly turns it into the normal I'm-badass-don't-mess-with-me face.

It's funny how easily he's trusting Sam, though, he thinks as he goes downstairs to grab some breakfast. But the thing is, he really fucking does. And, 'sides, it was Santana, known to do stuff like that.

"Good morning, Puck."

"'Morning, Mom," Puck answers as his mom enters the kitchen. "Oh, Mom, can you sign this, please?"

He hands her the permission slip, which Sam had found yesterday hidden by one of his gloves on a shelf (don't even ask how it ended up there, because Puck hasn't a fucking clue) when Puck had said it was beyond gone and Sam had, don't even ask again, done some weird impression from some even weirder film and said he could find anything and then rummaged through Puck's entire room. And found some rather embarrassing things, but let's not think of that, not again. **  
**  
"What is it?" his mom asks, and she puts on her glasses.

"We're going camping with glee club." His mom nods, and Puck thinks of how he would _never _miss this trip, it's going to be so awesome. Him and Sam, in a tent, the air hot and damp—because of the weather, of course.

"Here you go."

His mom hands it back, and Puck thinks of how he needs to find a safe place to put it when bringing it to Glee, because no way in hell is he going to misplace it now.

'.'.'

When walking to Glee that same day, he still has it with him, in the back pocket of his jeans, and he's still in a fucking good mood, because during training he and Sam had this weird little eying going on during Beiste's pep talk afterwards.

Suddenly, a huge crash sounds in front of him, and fuck no. That just isn't happening. Karofsky—that motherfucker who is so going to die as soon as Puck gets his hands on him, which should be in two seconds—is pushing Sam straight into the lockers.

Sam rises up from the ground and tries to punch Karofsky, but Puck is there before him and knees the asshole in his crotch. Karofsky sinks down, and Puck just want him to fucking bleed, he wants to hear him cry, so he kicks him in his stomach, but it's still not enough, not even close.

But before he's been able to break his nose, or whatever fucking else, someone is there and grabbing him around his waist, and it doesn't matter how fucking much he pulls, he still can't get out of the person's arms.

"Puckerman, lay off!"

"Let me go," Puck growls, and in the corner of his eyes, he sees how Sam is held back by Mr. Schue.

"Puckerman, I said _lay off_." He now hears that it's Coach Beiste's voice in his ear, but that doesn't make a fucking difference, because Karofsky should _die_, right here.

"Puck," another voice says, and it's Sam. "Puck, c'mon, man, leave it." Puck breathes in, but he doesn't dare to look at Sam, not when Sam uses that voice (it's the doe-eyed one), so he firmly stares at Karofsky, who is squirming on the floor.

But Sam repeats, "It's okay," and Puck turns and meets his gaze. He breathes out—he hadn't even realized he was holding his breath—and then Beiste lets him go, but she's still holding his arm.

"Sam, Puck, to the choir room, now, and Karofsky, go to your class." Schue has stepped in now, and Karofsky scrambles to his feet and walks away, after giving Puck one long glare. Puck just looks at him, because he knows he has won, and that feels fucking awesome.

It's probably just adrenaline pumping in his veins, though, because the next moment he looks at Sam again, and he doesn't feel so fucking awesome. Sam doesn't seem to have been hurt, but it still makes him feel awful, that he wasn't there a little sooner before it all had happened. But Sam doesn't, at least not for one moment, seem to be happy to have been saved…but then he works up a smile and shakes his head in Puck's direction. "I'm fine, dude," he says, and they follow Schue to the choir room.

"Really?"

"Really. I hope you didn't lose the permission slip now, eh?" Sam says quietly as they enter the choir room.

"Nope," Puck says with a grin and hands it to Mr. Schue. "'Course not. We're going camping, Evans."


	5. Chapter 5 in which Sam storms out

_A/N: Wow. It didn't take an entire year at least? Also, I suppose you should have really high expectations on this chapter since I worked on it for so long... Huh._

_Many thanks to mew-tsubaki for being a brilliant beta-reader as usual!_

* * *

**You're screwed, Puck**

**Chapter Five**

**in which Sam storms out of a tent really girlishly which kind of disproves his point**

They are on a bench behind the parking lot, and Sam is leaning against Puck's thighs, as he's sitting beneath him, and Puck is up against the backrest. They're completely alone and the sun is shining and everything's so fucking peaceful that Puck would have been, on any other day, completely miffed about it and would have had to do _something_, but this time he doesn't, because Sam is, as stated, leaning against his thighs.

"What did Karofsky do?" Puck asks, because, after all, Sam is rubbing his side and Puck can tell he's still sore, at least a little bit, no matter how much of a brave face he's trying to put on, the adorable little fucker. For a split second, Puck wonders if that wasn't far too cheesy, but then Sam speaks up.

"Nothing. …I don't know…he just came up to me and was all up in my face," he says, leaning backwards and closing his eyes, as if Puck's lap is the most fucking normal place to be in—and that makes Puck's insides practically fly out of him.

"So he said nothing?" Puck asks, because well, first of all, he really has to do something to make his intestines stay in place or it would be awkward, and secondly, no one should be fucking around with his Sam like this, it just doesn't work like that. And people should know that, that if they tried something, Puck would be there to attack them like a fucking ninja, karate-kicking them in their faces so badly that they wouldn't even notice him coming until he was already gone.

"No, Puck," Sam answers, sucking in his lower lip and rising from his position. Puck immediately misses the weight of him in his lap, before he realizes that sounds pretty corny, so he slides down from the backrest and sits next to Sam.

Sam doesn't meet his eyes, and Puck starts to feel a little desperate because there is something going on with Sam, and he can't tell what it is, but he knows there is, and just that it makes him feel so fucking nervous is making him feel even _more_ fucking nervous.

But then Sam grabs his hand and smiles down at the ground, and Puck stops functioning; it's just too much and too confusing, so he leans over and kisses Sam, full-out-right-there-in-public. Well, the "public" consists of a lady several yards away, across the street, and she's busy steering her walker around a lamppost, and Puck doesn't even know how he's able to notice it while he has Sam's lips against his, but—then again—today has been quite emotional and mind-fucking, which isn't really normal when it comes to Puck.

Sam leans backwards then, but he still has his hand on Puck's thigh, where it landed sometime during the kiss, and Puck decides that he's just making this up in his mind, that it's some sappy part of him that is causing him to fear Sam leaving him, when really, who would ever leave _Noah fucking Puckerman_ when they had him?

"I've got to go now," Sam says, and Puck smiles despite everything, jumping up to stand next to him.

"Me, too," he says with a nod, and when they walk away together, he lingers on the thought that he just maybe really likes Sam a lot, for once, and that's why he's so afraid of losing him.

But that notion is almost too fucking big for his mind to grasp, so when he says goodbye to Sam at the crossroad, he kisses Sam really hard because that is so much easier than anything else at this time of day. And, 'sides, when he does, Sam slips his hands underneath his shirt and that is one thing that lets his brain let go of those other topics, and it makes Puck want to stay in that very spot forever, with the lamppost next to them and not letting go of each other until they hear a car driving up the road.

But if nothing, the kiss made Puck forget every fucking thing about something being up.

'.'.'

"Tina?" Schue asks and ticks her off from the list when she confirms she's there. The day for the camp trip is here, and Puck is all riled up about it; he can't remember one time he's been this fucking excited about something.

Well, okay, there were some times, honestly. Times including Sam's tongue and, well, other parts of Sam. But not exciting in this way, still, Puck decides and grins to Sam who's standing in the other part of the circle that has formed around Schue. He's carrying a huge backpack which makes him look as though he may topple over any second. Sam raises his eyebrows, and Puck realizes Sam hasn't a clue of what Puck is thinking, but whatever, he continues grinning.

Finally, they get to board the bus that's standing waiting for them, after Schue has—uselessly—been trying to convince them all that they can't just _throw_ their bags into the space below the bus, it won't fit. But Puck has thrown in his first, so he leaves them all to sort it out themselves: he's going to get himself a damned good place on the bus.

"Hey, move in a bit," Finn says a couple of minutes later, waving a bag of chips in Puck's face. "Look, I've brought provisions."

"Umm," Puck says, because this was not really what he had planned. Sam was meant to sit next to him, but now the asshole is helping Schue with the bags, so he's not even on the bus yet. Fuck it. Sam will just have to deal with it, Puck decides—but somehow he wonders if it won't be the other way around. That _he's_ going to have to deal with the absence of Sam. Which is kind of pathetic.

Finn slouches down in the seat, puts on his seatbelt, and grins at Puck. "Just like that field trip in second grade, yeah?"

"When you missed home so much you had to sleep in Mrs. Rancham's tent, yeah?" Puck asks, because he sure remembers.

Then he sees Sam going aboard the bus in the front, and he kind of stops listening to what Finn's replying. (He already can guess it, so whatever.) Sam looks around himself, and Puck sort of wants to wave at him, but he really doesn't want to look like a dork either.

So he just sits there, and, like, _wills_ Sam with his mind to keep moving down the bus. (And he makes a mental note never to mention this to Sam, because then sure as hell Sam would never shut up about psycho-things since he's already into that on a level that can't be healthy.) There is, namely, a seat free just in front of Puck, so if Sam sits down there, they'll at least be close. And Puck will be able to lean over Sam's seat and get a whiff of Sam's hair.

Puck shakes his head quickly. For fuck's sake, he's starting to become embarrassing. Even though it's just in his mind.

However, Sam seems to have picked up his telepathic message, as he awkwardly squeezes past Rachel and props himself down just in that spot Puck had (well, not literally, but still) saved for him.

Puck leans backwards, slips down a bit in his seat, and extends his legs underneath Sam's seat, until he reaches the back of Sam's sneakers. He pushes against them with his toe, and Sam turns around and gives Puck a look. Puck stares right back, and then he makes a kind of pout.

Sam's eyes glint a little bit, and then he turns around and launches himself into a conversation with Rachel.

Puck really doesn't get it, but on the other hand, what had he suspected? Sam crawling over his backseat and making out with Puck sloppily, one hand pressed to the window to brace himself, the other fumbling around under Puck's shirt with everyone around them?

(No, he hadn't expected that. But if he's being perfectly honest, it would have been fucking hot.)

'.'.'

"Are you sure it's not gonna fall over on us?" Sam asks, for what must be the millionth time. He sure doesn't look very doubting, though, as he quickly bends down and crawls into the tent they just built. "C'mon" continues his now muffled call from inside, and Puck follows. Like, not that he's _whipped_ or anything—just that he needs to inspect their work so it's stable and all. Imagine how much of a turn-off it would be if it suddenly buried Sam and him in the middle of things.

"Wow, not a huge space, exactly," Puck says once he's inside. He and Sam have to sit next to each other if they don't want to sit in each other's lap or anything. And, well, Puck guesses that has to wait until later.

"Did we really want that?" Sam asks, and fuck if he doesn't scoot a little bit closer to Puck on his knees, his eyes dipping down to Puck's lips every tiny second he takes another knee-step. Though, Puck kind of can't keep his gaze on Sam's eyes either, not when Sam's fucking lips are parted like that.

Just so.

Sam puts his arms around Puck's neck, and he's still on his knees so he's crouching over Puck a bit, and well, it's not exactly a doe-look in his eyes when he's towering over Puck; it's rather as though Sam's turned in to some kind of predator.

Puck has never felt like this before; it's as though there's something inside him that melts and fucking hell, he's no idea what it is, and oh _God_, is this really happening?

He stumbles slightly as he pushes himself up on his knees so they're on the same level. The look in Sam's eyes disappears and for a slight moment there's that strange one again, but then Sam makes a noise in his throat and puts his lips on Puck's and Puck sort of forgets anything but that.

"All right, you've got fifteen minutes to unpack—then I want you all out here!" says Schue from somewhere outside the tent. When Puck pulls off from Sam, a pout plasters across his face and Puck feels like a real asshole (plus, he very, _very _much misses the way Sam tugged at his shirt) so he bends back down and kisses him once more.

He's definitely become a pussy, he thinks gloomily.

"So," Sam says at last. "Let's make our beds." He says it with a completely blank face, and Puck has to fucking swallow because he doesn't know if Sam is blank because he's…just blank, or if he's doing it to tease him, or if it depends on something else entirely.

Puck groans inwardly. He's thinking way too much right now. And Sam is talking of beds and his hair is all messed up and he's sitting really close and his lips are so fucking _red_.

Then he turns and hauls his backpack around so it's between his legs. Puck does the same, but with his sleeping bag, which he never strapped onto his backpack, simply because there were no straps on his backpack. (He even had a hard time finding something that wasn't either a sport bag or a handbag in his house.) He pulls it out and looks up at Sam to compare.

Sam seems to have actually brought an entire bed with him.

"You actually crammed your comforter and pillow in there?"

"Yes," Sam answers shortly. It's a bit too crowded in the tent, like, even more than it was before now, but still it seems to Puck that Sam is making them be further away from each other.

"That's sort of weird." Just as fucking weird as how Sam's voice suddenly sounds.

"How so?"

Puck rolls his eyes. "Why not just bring a sleeping bag?"

"Didn't have one," Sam answers, and he drags his hands across the sheets, smoothing them out. His eyes are turned downwards.

"But…," Puck begins. Then he changes his mind. "You could have said something; I could have lent you one."

"But it's fine, really," Sam says, but Puck can't help but think that, _No, how the hell is that fine?_

So he says that, but as he begins to add, "Like, it weighs a ton carrying this crap around," it sort of dies in his throat.

"Puck, just stop," Sam says.

"What?"

"You keep treating me, like—" Sam pauses slightly, breathing in through his nose.

"What?" Puck crosses his arms, because what the fuck is Sam on about?

"Like I'm your _girlfriend_," Sam says at last, his chest heaving, and despite it all Puck can't help looking at it.

"Hey, what?"

"Yes! You're all up in my face treating me like I'm a girl and that you need to protect me."

"Do not," Puck retorts, and he knows it's a shitty argument (because he has learnt _something_ in Rhetoric class actually), but he wasn't exactly prepared, so.

"You do! I swear—it's like you don't get it. Like you can't face that you're attracted to a boy, so you pretend I'm a girl."

"What the hell?" Puck splutters, because really, _What the hell?_ He doesn't think Sam is a girl, like, _what?_ "I know perfectly well you're no girl. I mean, Sam, you've got parts that a girl…"

"It's not that. God, Puck," Sam interrupts, and then he drags a hand over his face and through his hair. And Puck still isn't sure what the fuck is happening. "I just—" He gives Puck one long look, and then he gathers up all the sheets and things and creeps through the tent opening.

Puck watches the flap close, and seriously? If he's being completely honest, storming out after an argument that didn't even lead anywhere is kind of girlish.

Then he thinks that maybe that's exactly how he shouldn't be thinking.

Then he pretends that his sleeping bag is Sam fucking Evans and punches it as hard as he can.


End file.
